


It Was Never About Katsudon

by sextonviolets (fairbreeze)



Series: Coming in Firsts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothing Kink, First Time, Locker Room, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 18:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbreeze/pseuds/sextonviolets
Summary: Yuuri stands, alone, in the Ice Castle locker rooms and thinks that he's fine.So then… why is he shaking?-or-For Yuuri, the tension between Viktor and him has been building for years.  When he wins Hot Springs on Ice, it snaps.---"Coming in Firsts" is a series of stand-alone fics, each dealing with Yuuri and Viktor having their "first time" right after each competition in the series.





	It Was Never About Katsudon

**Author's Note:**

> "Coming in Firsts" is a series of stand-alone fics, each dealing with Yuuri and Viktor having their "first time" right after each competition in the series. Each fic is canon compliant up to the point it takes place but most of them completely destroy canon after that point.

Yuuri stands, alone, in the Ice Castle locker rooms and thinks that he's fine. 

He has actually done all of this before, after all—the press, the podium, everything swirling around him. The disastrous Grand Prix Final had been his first _major_ international competition, but he'd won his fair share of domestic competitions and at least medaled in a few lower level international ones as well. As little credit as he gives himself for them, he _has_ stood on enough podiums on the way to the Grand Prix that the sensation of _winning_ isn't unfamiliar, even if it always feels like a bit of a cheat. On top of that, this place is familiar as well—older style but well-maintained lockers, the same grey walls. He's wrapped a lifetime of wounded feet on that bench, always gravitated towards this same locker. Everything here is familiar and comfortable and _fine_.

So then… why is he shaking?

He hasn't even managed to get his skates off. He'd sat down a minute ago because he couldn't stand up anymore, then stood back up because he couldn't just sit. He can't concentrate, he can't take off his skates, can't work the laces. He doesn't even know what it is that's _wrong_ , the sensation not the same rampant anxiety or failure or relief that usually accompanies time on the ice in front of people. Whatever this is, though, it does hold some similarities—jangly, breath-stealing sensations, the feeling of too much under his skin, potential energy, a million paths breaking off and winding around one another. But where his anxiety draws conclusions, hems him into pathways, reminds him he can fail and then makes sure he does, this is just… baseless. It's just the feeling like things are shifting and he's in freefall and there's no ground _anywhere_. 

It doesn't feel _bad_ , though. That's the part he doesn't understand. He knows the feeling of his anxiety like he would know a lover if the thought of having one didn't then activate the anxiety and it's _always_ bad. It never paints him good pictures; it always feels like darkness, like things closing in. This… doesn't feel like any of that, it's just _energy_ and the only bad thing about is that he knows people are waiting for him to get back to Yu-topia, that they will be worried.

 _Viktor_ will be worried.

For some reason, that thought resolves into a shudder down his spine and he wraps his arms around himself, lightly, trying to hold something in, trying to not shake apart, even though he's still asking why, why, why?

 _Why_ walks through the door a moment later and it's immediately clear that Viktor is not worried, though he gets there quickly,

"Yu~uri, are you finished? Your mom's making katsudon and I can't wait to get to eat it with yo—" he takes in Yuuri standing there, still in his costume and his skates, head leaned against the cold metal of the lockers, clearly trying to not fly apart at the seams and he's rushing to his side in an instant, a warm hand on his shoulder, "Yuuri, are you alright? What's wrong?"

The jangly feeling in his limbs gets worse at the touch, at the tenderness in Viktor's voice. _I won. Viktor is staying here. Viktor is still my coach. I won. I won. I won._ It babbles through his head, but it's not a resolution, it's not what he's feeling, there's no _relief_. There's a moment when he's sure he's about to cry, burst into tears in front of the one person in the world he wants to cry in front of the _least_ , but then he's turning instead and stepping into Viktor, burying himself in his arms instead and there is a noise, and it's a bit like a sob, but it's not crying.

Viktor winds his arms around him, holds him, and everything unravels.

"I don't care about the katsudon." He doesn't mean it. He's been looking forward to it since he started to drop weight and has been specifically looking forward to getting to eat katsudon with Viktor since that was what tumbled out of his mouth as his win condition. He _does_ mean it. He means a lot of things with it. He's named katsudon as his "eros". He's still in his Eros costume, Viktor's costume. He has just skated for Viktor. He's in Viktor's arms. His back presses against the lockers, a sensation registered as cold more than movement, and when he raises his head in surprise he meets Viktor's eyes.

Viktor has understood all of them.

Viktor tilts his chin up, firm, in a grip that would be a little painful except that Yuuri is completely pliant to being moved, feels dazed now after all the energy of a moment before and his eyes bore into him, intense, assessing. There's a question being asked and Yuuri doesn't know what it is but he doesn't shrink from it either. He doesn't know what Viktor is seeing in his face but a moment later they're kissing.

It turns _melting_ almost immediately, Viktor's grip on his chin softening to a caress and the tension bleeding out of Yuuri so quickly that he's light-headed, wavering on his skates. There's a soft gasp of _relief_ more than pleasure or surprise, all the energy finding a sudden reason, a purpose—but it hardly matters _why_ he makes the noise because it parts his lips just slightly and Viktor is licking between them and Yuuri's knees give. Viktor keeps him standing by pinning him harder to the lockers and _devours_ his mouth and he doesn't seem at all deterred by the fact that Yuuri can't keep up, doesn't really even know how to kiss, just keeps taking him apart with his mouth.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" Viktor breathes it against the skin of Yuuri's neck when they finally concede that their bodies need oxygen and clearly Yuuri's brain has been kissed entirely offline because, 

"Nowhere near as long as I have," is what tumbles out and it doesn't come out nervous or like he's a fanboy. It comes out heated, _wanting_ , and Viktor mouths what's likely going to be a bruise into the side of his neck in response. Yuuri keens softly at the sensation, hips rocking forward just a little bit before he even realizes that he's moved and then claps one hand over his mouth in mortification,

"Oh god, sorry, I'm—" the zipper at his neck purrs downward, just an inch, just enough to get his attention and when he looks up, meets Viktor's eyes again, he loses the end of that sentence, all of his apologies dropping around them on the ground. "It won't come off over my skates," is what he finishes with, instead. Maybe someone else could make that sexier, sassy, teasing. Yuuri is just Yuuri, but it carries the weight of a concession. Viktor has kissed him. Viktor wants to undress him. He is going to let him.

Yuuri has never seen someone fall to their knees so quickly or so wholeheartedly.

He almost follows him down, a disaster before they've even started because his legs waver again, threaten to no longer hold him. Somehow, though, his hands find Viktor's shoulders instead and Viktor unlaces his left skate with exaggerated care. His hands are nimble, quick, but everything feels deliberate, focused. Yuuri's foot is lifted out of the skate so precisely, gently, his sock pulled off along with the skate, that it makes him jump a little when Viktor just lets the skate fall unceremoniously to the side. The contrast is clear. The thing that is _precious_ here is clear. Yuuri has to breath manually. Every breath sounds entirely too loud in his ears. 

The second skate follows the first and Viktor looks up at him, intense and _hungry_ and _please_ comes out of Yuuri's mouth in what he's pretty sure is Japanese instead of English, softer and with more vowels, but it clearly doesn't need any translation. Viktor's eyes sharpen slightly and then he's sliding up Yuuri's body, the friction making his hips jerk up off the lockers again, which Yuuri wants to be embarrassed about, except that Viktor uses the opportunity to get his hands on his ass and Yuuri hits his head on the same set of lockers instead. 

Now that he's been given clear permission to touch, Viktor touches him like he's _ravenous_ for him, hands running over the costume in a way that's somehow both consuming and reverent. It's another point where Yuuri realizes the contrast—in any other costume, he might think Viktor was enjoying the feel of the fabric, but Viktor is _intimately_ familiar with how this particular fabric feels against skin, which means what he's really doing is feeling out how Yuuri's body inside it. Yuuri feels like he's come completely unmoored, starts to understand the concept of out of body experiences and yet it's Viktor moaning into his neck, Viktor's voice sounding almost broken with desire, 

"Yuuri… Yuuri, please, tell me this is all right. Tell me this is something you want," slender, expressive fingers toy with the zipper of the costume again, tug it just a little down, just enough to make the meaning plain. Viktor's fingers are so warm it's almost dizzying, sliding into that space, tender and intimate. He doesn't push any farther, though, waiting for Yuuri.

" _Please_ ," Yuuri gets the word out of his mouth as quickly as he can, in English this time, "Yes, _please_ , get me _out_ of it…" Yuuri still can't quite beg for what he really wants but they both know what it is that he's really begging for in asking Viktor to strip him out of the spandex and gems. Yuuri feels taken apart already, so the broken little noise _Viktor_ makes, like this is some kind of dream come true for _him_ startles him a little, heats everything inside him, leaves him pressing his hips up desperately. The writhe slows Viktor from being able to get the zipper down, trying to be careful with the costume. Yuuri finds himself both grateful and profoundly wishing he would just grab the sides of it and rip it off him. He's been patient his _whole life_. There's no patience left, now.

He does let Viktor determine the pace, though, follows suit, tugs his fingers out of the gloves as delicately as he can manage so that Viktor can peel the whole thing off his torso. He just wants to get it _over_ with. He knows he's going to be nervous and strange no matter what and he just wants to get over and through and _past_ that, to what he knows (hopes) is on the other side. But Viktor clearly wants to at least try to take his time, pet over every inch of skin in a way that makes Yuuri's head spin. Partially, it's just that Viktor is touching him at all, but part of it is the _way_ he's touching him, making him feel like something admired, _desired_. Yuuri is not unaware that all he's really done is given Viktor permission to finally touch him and Viktor is nearly falling all over himself to do so, almost _begging_ for him. There's a thrill of power at it, something he rides, that keeps him from panic. 

In some ways, he doesn't understand. The way his brain works doesn't _let_ him understand. He's not attractive. He's not anything special. He doesn't know why Viktor is here and if he's doing all of this maybe it's just because he wants to motivate Yuuri, maybe Yuuri is just a distraction. But the thing is, he doesn't actually _care_ right now. The worst-case scenario, that this is just endorphins or pity or both, still has Viktor here, right now, moaning into his neck and touching him like he wants him, like he's starved for him. Viktor could leave tomorrow and Yuuri would be _heartbroken_ , probably couldn't skate again, but he wouldn't regret this. Not for a single moment. 

In some ways, he understands _instantly_. Viktor wants him. He doesn't know why, but he _wants_ him, he has wanted him, the seduction he's been playing out, practice after practice, has _worked_. And Viktor asked to be seduced, gave him that part to play, which means there's at least some part of him that's wanted him like this from the beginning, since he saw him skate his routine and came to Japan. It's heady. It makes him reckless, uncaring that Viktor's still fully dressed, running hands over muscles while all Yuuri can do, overwhelmed, is cling, try to keep his feet, murmur _yes_ and _please_ and _Viktor_ in various combinations. Viktor doesn't move slowly, doesn't linger, but he does seem to need to touch or taste every part of him before he can move on to the next. Eventually, that's his mouth again and Yuuri almost sobs from how good it is— no doubt, no fear, and the intensity might be uncomfortable to someone else, but it's _perfect_ right now, everything he's needed for longer than he's known what that need was.

Viktor finally releases him enough to slide back down to his knees and there's a vague, fluttering thought that he's probably ruining his pants on the wet locker room floor and there's that surge again, like Yuuri really is someone powerful and desirable, someone who could bring Viktor Nikiforov to his knees for him. It keeps his mind busy for a moment which is probably a good thing because Viktor just pulls everything down and off him, costume and dance belt alike and he's _naked_ and Viktor has seen him without his clothes on before in the hot springs and even in these same locker rooms, so that's nothing particularly new, but it's different like this and he's only aware in the tenderness of Viktor's kiss against his hip that he's shaking a little bit again.

Viktor doesn't rise back up after that, just looks up at him, meets his eyes again, and it looks oddly like he's looking for some kind of reassurance, though it's likely just for permission since Yuuri is usually so skittish. Either way, Yuuri reaches out and sinks his fingers into silver, which he's been wanting to do for _years_ , and manages a nod that he hopes looks more like conviction than the more accurate hormone fueled urgency. Whatever Viktor sees in his face it must be enough, though, because he's lowering his mouth down over his cock the next moment.

It's so much better than his hand, alone in bed in the dark, thinking about this. This whole scenario is better than anything he ever could have dreamed up, even before the wet heat of Viktor's mouth, the low sound of him moaning, pleased. Yuuri presses one hand up against his own mouth, trying to press the moans back into his throat. He's too dazed to be embarrassed about them but noise carries in the locker rooms and he doesn't want _anyone_ to bother them right now. The thought makes his knees tremble again and Viktor pulls off just a little bit, just enough so he can both lap tenderly at the head of his cock and so he can hike one of Yuuri's legs up over his shoulder, helping to take his weight so it wouldn't be as hard to remain standing. The position feels a _lot_ more vulnerable all of a sudden, but that only makes heat trace farther down his spine. 

"I wanted this to be slower," it's a little muffled, Viktor doesn't seem to want to take his mouth off Yuuri's cock to talk, "I wanted to take my time. But I _can't_. You're so…" for once, Viktor seems lost for words but that's okay because he also seems completely unable to keep Yuuri's cock out of his mouth, sinking back over him with a delirious sort of noise, like he's _starving_. He pulls back just long enough for a, "God… Yuuri, _Yuuri_ ," like Yuuri is doing anything in the world right now other than holding on for dear life and trying to be quiet, pleading moans echoing anyway, but hopefully no further than the locker room.

He's not going to last. He wants to try to drag this out, just in case this is some kind of weird fluke, something he's only going to get once, but it's both the goofy, sometimes irresponsible, _gorgeous_ man that he's gotten to know over the past few weeks and also _Viktor Nikiforov_ , still in his suit, down on his knees sucking his cock like it's everything in the world he's ever wanted to do, and it's pretty amazing that he's managed this long.

Looking down and realizing Viktor has one of his hands down his own pants is the final straw. There's no resisting _that_.

"Viktor!" And _god_ it feels so good to moan his name out like that that Yuuri's distracted for a moment with it before he remembers there was a reason he was suddenly trying to talk, "Viktor, I'm really—" close, is what he was going to say, trying to warn him, but there's just a purring response and Viktor taking him _deeper_ and Yuuri's _gone_.

He doesn't feel like he passes out, exactly, but there's very little awareness between Victor swallowing around his cock and the feeling of his arms around him, cradling him while he figures out how his body works again, how his lungs work. He's gasping for air, curled close in Viktor's arms and this is the only place he wants to be for the rest of _ever_.

Viktor pushes some hair out of his face and the touch is so _tender_ that any progress Yuuri's made towards breathing normally dissolves instantly. Everything about Viktor is tender in that moment, sweet, but also oddly tentative, _soft_. Yuuri feels like he's been turned inside out and he'd expect Viktor to be smug about it, the dashing, experienced playboy, but he looks… vulnerable. 

"May I kiss you?" It's so odd of him to ask, when he didn't specifically ask before sucking Yuuri's cock and for a moment there's something between a hysterical laugh and a smart-assed answer crawling up the back of Yuuri's throat, because _seriously_? Can he _kiss_ him?

But there's something in Viktor's expression that makes Yuuri pause a moment instead and then lean in as an answer, putting his hands on either side of Viktor's face, kissing him full and grateful and a little dirty with the aftereffects of really good sex. It's not until he tastes himself in Viktor's mouth that he understands why he might have asked and it's into the second kiss before it clicks for him why he looked like that when he did.

Someone has said no to him before.

Someone has let Viktor Nikiforov, beautiful, ridiculous, _singular_ Viktor, get down on his knees and _worship_ their cock and then didn't want to kiss him, probably said something about it being gross. Someone let him get to this point, breathless and devoted, and _turned him away_. 

Yuuri slides his fingers into his hair and pulls him closer, opens his mouth and licks everything left out of Viktor's and it's _weird_ , doesn't taste very good, but it's worth every bit of it to hear the way it makes Viktor moan, low and grateful and like Yuuri just hung the stars in the sky for him personally.

"We should get back," it's murmured against his lips, amused, but in a way that draws Yuuri in, makes it clear that Viktor is laughing at them _both_ , "before someone sends a search party."

"Did you… ah…" it seems silly, foolish, to be shy about the words when he's just been licking his own cum out of Viktor's mouth, but Yuuri stumbles over them anyway. Luckily, Viktor understands, shifts to holding Yuuri with one arm and it's only then that Yuuri realizes Viktor's been holding him more gingerly on one side than the other. Viktor's fingers are wet and he gives Yuuri a moment to process what that means, but Yuuri's too thrown offline to do anything other than stare while he wipes them on a towel. "I could have helped with that," he says a moment later, voice surprising him with how warm and low it comes out. It seems to surprise Viktor too, though his expression settles sly a moment later, 

"I'm sure you'll get another chance," it's said warm with promise, but a little flippant, teasing. If Yuuri hadn't just heard the earlier hesitation, he never would have heard it again, here, 

"I hope so," he feels his own face settle into a grin, something that feels manic but must be sexy, the way Viktor's cheeks pink, "After all, it'll be hard to eat my mom's katsudon all the way in China." He thinks for a moment that maybe he's been _too_ subtle. The joke is clearly sexual, but he's afraid the concept of sex as a prize for winning might not make it through three languages. After a moment, though, Viktor's flush deepens and he reels Yuuri back in, 

"Only for you, _zolotse_. _I_ don't think I'll find it very difficult at all." It's said with a laugh and Yuuri is just tired enough to miss it as a return joke.

He gets it later and nearly chokes on a bit of fried pork.

Viktor's laugh makes it worth it.


End file.
